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A publicação de 'Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas' não só inaugura o Realismo no Brasil, como inicia a etapa mais complexa da obra de Machado de Assis. Com ela, aprofunda-se a sua análise da realidade e refina-se a sua linguagem, sendo considerada a obra que prenuncia algumas técnicas da literatura moderna....

Title : Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas
Author :
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ISBN : 9780850515022
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 165 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas Reviews

  • brian
    2019-01-27 16:35

    a sick chicken and the voluptuousness of miserywe read an author and wonder 'how is it possible that this genius is not known?'... yes, only a species as cretinous as ours could ignore machado. along with carpentier and mutis, he takes the top 'what the fuck' spot. here are three reasons machado must be read, must not be forgotten:1) as karen pointed out below: "18fucking80". yup. madman machado wrote a modernist masterpiece way back when. joyce and woolf? they don't have shit on machado. nothing. in this hysterical and darkdarkdark nuthouse you get the narrator's crazy drawings (i ripped out the pages and stuck 'em on the wall next to my desk), made-up words, demented philosophical systems, aphorisms, chapters that describe their own uselessness, chapters asking to be inserted within the text of other chapters, and wonderful sections in which the narrator commands us to disregard the text, that he's full of shit, that he's overwritten something to make it sound more literary. yeah. check out the entirety of chapter 45: "Sobs, tears, an improvised altar with saints and crucifix, black curtains on the walls, strips of black velvet framing an entrance, a man who came to dress the corpse, another man who took the measurements for the coffin; candelabra, the coffin on a table covered with gold-and-black silk with candles at the corners, invitations, guests who entered slowly with muffled step and pressed the hand of each member of the family, some of them sad, all of them serious and silent, priest, sacristan, prayers, sprinkling of holy water, the closing of the coffin with hammer and nails; six persons who removes the coffin from the table, lift it, carry it, with difficulty, down the stairs despite the cries, sobs, and new tears of the family, walk with it to the hearse, place it on the slab, strap it securely with leather thongs; the rolling of the hearse, the rolling of the carriages one by one… These are the notes that I took for a sad and commonplace chapter which I shall not write."2) because all the modernist shit isn't there for it's own sake. it's in service of a wildly original and terrific book. and if it wasn't written by a black brazilian in the 19th century, but by a white 20 yr old in 2009, it'd still be great. (of course, there'd be a Machado backlash in which he'd be accused of gimmickry and unoriginality and being overly clever and blahblah) i don't laugh from books. i don't like funny books. machado forces me to take back both those statements. salman rushdie: 'the kind of humor that makes skulls smile.' check this exfuckingtraordinary excerpt, a veritable fuckfest of humor and tragedy:"'Tis good to be sad and say nothing'… I remember that I was sitting under a tamarind tree, with the poet's book open in my hands and my spirit as crestfallen as a sick chicken. I pressed my silent grief to my breast and experienced a curious feeling, something that might be called the voluptuousness of misery. Voluptuousness of misery. Memorize the phrase, reader; store it away, take it out and study it from time to time, and, if you do not succeed in understanding it, you may conclude that you have missed one of the most subtle emotions of which man is capable.'"ahhhh! headbashingly great stuff!3) susan sontag. karen brissette. two tough chicks, one dead & one alive, who push the shit outta machado. woody allen is a machado fan. as is carlos fuentes, salman rushdie, javier marias, and harold bloom. and sontag's introduction is, as always, a must read. she makes the interesting point that latin america produced such far-seeing and interesting literature not merely because the dictatorships tyrannies and repressive regimes produced a literature of 'pressure', but because the latin americans were those who were most enamored by laurence sterne... damn. i've really gotta read tristam shandy.enough said. you know what to do.

  • Mike Puma
    2019-01-24 20:31

    “Do not mourn the dead. They know what they are doing.” ― Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the StarWith those lines, Lispector might have introduced this novel by her countryman. Told from the other side of the grave, we learn of the narrator’s small successes and small failures, ultimately balanced in the totality of things. Braz Cubas, the narrator, provides his autobiography, and his philosophy, with a gentle humor in a novel which anticipates the best of meta-fiction, breaking with a Romantic literary tradition in South America and leaping into a Realism that feels contemporary.”Come, my great lecher, the voluptuousness of extinction awaits you.”Braz Cubas describes his romances and political aspirations with a detachment:The sharp and judicial eye of public opinion loses its power as soon as we enter the territory of death. I do not deny that it sometimes glances this way and examines and judges us, but we dead folk are not concerned about its judgment. You who still live, believe me, there is nothing in the world so monstrously vast as our indifference He constantly cajoles and engages the reader: ’Tis good to be sad and say nothing.’ When I read these words of Shakespeare, I felt within me an echo, a delicious echo. I remember sitting under a tamarind tree, with the poet’s book open in my hands and my spirit as crestfallen as a sick chicken. I pressed my silent grief to my breast and experienced a curious feeling, something that might be called the voluptuousness of misery. Voluptuousness of misery. Memorize this phrase, reader; store it away, take it out and study it from time to time, and, if you do not succeed in understanding it, you may conclude you have missed one of the most subtle emotions of which man is capable. He likens life to the constant revision of a book:Let Pascal say man is a thinking reed. He is wrong; man is a thinking erratum. Each period in life is a new edition that corrects the preceding one and that in turn will be corrected by the next, until publication of the definitive edition, which the publisher donates to the worms.He encourages the slow-reading, the consideration of his text by direct challenge: I am beginning to be sorry that I ever undertook to write this book. Not that it bores me; I have nothing else to do; indeed, it is a welcome distraction to eternity. But the book is tedious, it smells of the tomb, it has a rigor mortis about it; a serious fault, a yet a relatively small one, for the great defect of this book is you, reader. And the slow-reading, the thoughtful consideration pays off. Language. Camaraderie with the narrator (unreliable, and frequently unlikeable, as he is) wins us over. A constant source for highlighting and reflection. The best way to not be ‘the great defect’ is to read this one as the narrator reads himself. Savory.__________________________________ Imagine, if you will, this title said aloud, with an accent of one type or another: do you hear, “Epitaph for a Small Weiner?” I feel a certain amount of shame mentioning this, however the narrator does , on several occasions, express concern over his ‘small sword’ while Napoleon had a ‘large sword.’ Just something to think about, but not for all that long.

  • Garima
    2019-02-15 23:43

    ... this book is written with apathy, with the apathy of a man now freed of the brevity of the century, a supinely philosophical work, of an unequal philosophy, now austere, now playful, something that neither builds nor destroys, neither inflames nor cools, and, yet, it is more than a pastime and less than an apostolate.My Goodreads morning started on an emotional note today. I logged in and found a book recommendation by Ali, friendly comments from Dolors and Dustin, the surprised mention of my name in Manny’s review and lovely messages in the inbox. What more could I have asked for? The update feed however, presented a different and grim story altogether. A chilling reminder about the unfavorable direction this site is heading towards. A site which is of, by and for the readers. Good readers, Great readers, readers without whose recommendations and reviews, I wouldn’t be the reader, I’m today. Emotions surged up when I started imagining the what ifs scenarios and when you dedicate a huge chunk of your time to a virtual world, the happenings in that world whether positive or negative, affects you in incommensurable proportions. It’s affecting me too and I would like to extend my heartiest thanks to each and everyone who are raising their voice in protest and hope that whatever happens the good reader in you will persevere and find blissful solace in wonderful books.May I recommend The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas? Death is inevitable and melancholy is alright but what fun to have an everlasting smile pasted on your face while reading a book. Bras Cubas is dead but gifted us all these wonderful posthumous memoirs. Why Posthumous? Probably our narrator, a supposed alter-ego of our author was seeking a full-fledged creative freedom and wanted to break all the rules of writing that must be in practice during his time. The year was 1880 and Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis gave us this enchanting literary treat which surely holds the power to fascinate everyone of us in the present world of countless genres and sub-genres.He had no other philosophy. Nor did I. I'm not saying that the university hadn't taught me some philosophical truths. But I'd only memorized the formulas, the vocabulary, the skeleton. I treated them as I had Latin: I put three lines from Virgil in my pocket, two from Horace, and a dozen moral and political locutions for the needs of conversation. I treated them the way I treated history and jurisprudence. I picked up the phraseology of all things, the shell, the decoration ...The truth in his humor, the irony in his innocent expressions and the wisdom in his reckless way of living life (while he lived), will make you instantly fall in love with Cubas. He’s not perfect but he’s perfectly human. The writer in him finds a way of telling us his witty intentions without sticking to conventions as apparent in the following quotes: What looks like a simple inventory here are notes I'd taken for a sad and banal chapter that I won't write. I found in her a certain ethereal softness wedded to the polish of earthly forms—a vague expression and worthy of a chapter in which everything must be vague.Few tears, lots of laughs and random sighs - the life viewed from the other side of the grave is not sieved through the judgmental eyes of the people around us but comes across in an unadulterated form consists of memories collected, mistakes committed and admissions of guilt in the confession box of our hearts and in retrospect, the life appears to be beautiful. Cubas tells us that and that’s what we should tell ourselves while we are living. Believe me, remembering is the least evil. No one should trust present happiness, there's a drop of Cain's drivel in it. With the passing of time and the end of rapture, then, yes, then perhaps it's possible really to enjoy, because between these two illusions the better one is the one that's enjoyed without pain.

  • Ahmad Sharabiani
    2019-01-29 23:24

    Memórias póstumas de Brás Cubas (Realistic trilogy #1), Joaquim Maria Machado de Assisتاریخ نخستین خوانش: سی و یک ماه می سال 2004 میلادیعنوان: خاطرات پس از مرگ براس کوباس؛ نویسنده: ماشادو د آسیس؛ مترجم: عبدالله کوثری؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، مروارید، 1382، در 293 ص، شابک: 9645881420؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان برزیلی قرن 19 ممن نویسنده ای فقید هستم اما نه به معنای آدمی که چیزی نوشته و حالا مرده، بلکه به معنای آدمی که مرده و حالا دارد مینویسد. این جمله از صفحه نخست کتاب، خلاصه ای از داستان کتاب است. «براس کوباس» پس از مرگ، زندگینامه ی خویش را نوشته است. مجموعه ای از فصلهای کوتاه و پی در پی با عناوین هنرمندانه. نخستین فصل عنوانش: مرگ نویسنده است. روایت تشییع جنازه خود که ...؛ دومین فصل: حکایت مشمّا، و فصل سوم: نسبنامه، فصل چهارم: فکر سمج؛ و ... تا یکصد و شصت فصل ادامه دارد؛ «براس کوباس» فرزند شلوغ و مغرور خانواده ای ثروتمند که خود ازدواج نکرده، و با زنی که شوهر داشته دوست بوده، در باره ی خود به قضاوت نشسته. نحوه ی روایت و دیدگاه نویسنده کتاب را خواندنی کرده. ایده ی داستان نویسی پس از مرگ هم ایده ی جالبی ست. کتاب اصلا آن سبک رازآلود و جادویی کتابهای آمریکای لاتین را ندارد. ا. شربیانی

  • Aubrey
    2019-01-29 19:43

    The reader, like his fellows, doubtless prefers action to reflection, and doubtless he is wholly in the right. So we shall get to it. However, I must advise that this book is written leisurely, with the leisureliness of a man no longer troubled by the flight of time; that is a work supinely philosophical, but of a philosophy wanting in uniformity, now austere, now playful, a thing that neither edifies nor destroys, neither inflames nor chills, and that is at once more of a pastime and less than a preachment.The more I read, the more I come to understand that the trait I admire most in authors is not so much a matter of elegant prose, complex plots, characters that leap off the pages and make their home in your heads when the last page has been turned and the story has ended. Those are all very entertaining in their own right, but clever is as clever does, and rarely provokes long-lasting admiration in my mind. What I prefer is a simple matter of trust, belief, faith even if that is the direction your theological tendencies swing. Faith of the author in themselves, but more importantly, enough faith in their audience to lead them without expounding, carry them along in the pages without tending to their every need and pandering to their every expectation.Some would disagree with me on that point. In fact, many would, all those folks who dislike books for "trying too hard" and "being too smart". Those who feel that the author did not adhere to the formula enough to guarantee formulaic enjoyment of the audience, and decry them for leading them out of their literary comfort zones and making them confront a strange beast of ink and paper. Oftentimes they look at this weird creature and see something of themselves inside it. Sometimes this bothers them. More frequently than you'd expect, this scares them.So what does this have to do with this book here, you ask? Good question. I haven't quite figured it out myself, actually. At least, not at this exact point in time, as I type down these words in the middle of a coffee shop, the book itself on my right and a list of its quotes on the left. That's why you're here. You're joining me on this journey, the goal of which is to find the purpose of conducting in the first place. Circular, no? But true.What this book achieves is an astounding thing in this current age, but even moreso when one takes into account the year of publication. 1880, two years after The Brothers Karamazov and four years before The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. If you asked me which is more closely related to this particular specimen, I'd have to say TBK. But only in terms of the wealth of philosophical content, the exacting and measured analysis of the human condition, the grappling with questions of success, reputation, and mortality. TBK tells you a story in a sonorous tone, preaches from the pulpit of its well-deserved yet greatly intimidating authorial presence. This book hops up on the stand, poses with hand on hip, says a few words in a serious tone, then quickly hops down and invites you to the back table to ruminate and reminisce over a few choice bottles of the finest vintages. There is a man behind the curtain, and he doesn't bother to pretend that he doesn't know that you know that he knows it's there. Instead, he welcomes you into his humble abode, and asks if you wish to hear a story. And trust me, reader, you really should say yes. Why? Why do we want to hear this story from this author, one who breaks off from all conventions in serving us what cannot at all be deemed a novel? One hundred and sixty bits and pieces of one, perhaps, but how could that possibly flow as strongly and as soothingly as a single entity, one that admittedly breaks off into chapters but ensures that each chapter is a well-rounded stepping stone to the next? Instead, we have this book, whose sections sometimes contain no more than a paragraph, a single sentence, even at some point a series of dots (or ellipses? Impossible to tell). How can a story possibly be told in such an erratic and incomprehensible fashion?Through conscientious and deliberate interaction of the author with his audience, who predicts their interests and invites them to go beyond them. Through knowledgeable understatement, conveying through simple events powerful ideas on life, love, and the death that the author supposedly composes in, without once feeling the need to paint an obvious map for the reader to jerk themselves around on. Through a measured and insightful eye on the actions of the main character, creating a man that dwells on deep thoughts without realization and dismisses them for frivolities and pleasure, yet is incontrovertibly shaped by the powerful undertow. A man who is both infuriatingly obtuse and startlingly sensitive, capable of both great cruelty and great understanding. A man who lived without effort, and died before making an effort. A man, now dead, writing of a life that he felt was lived without achieving any measure of great suffering, or amount of great joy.Perhaps he never did acquire those things he longed for so long in life. He did, however, find one thing: a small amount of truth in his life, one that reconciled his mortality with his visions of success, and contented him with living in constant and clear-sighted observation of himself and of others. The character may have never realized the beauty of his thoughts, the wonderful philosophies he drew from a privileged, yet empty living. I believe, however, that the author trusted us enough to discover those for ourselves. However much he played with us during the course of the pages, flattering our sensibilities while baffling our literary conventions, he trusted us to go through his pages and discover something on our own, for our own. That something, however small, is worth everything.

  • Miss Ravi
    2019-01-27 15:34

    امتیاز من: 3.4«تقدیم به اولین کرمی که بر کالبدم افتاد.»کتاب این‌جوری شروع می‌شه. و شما با یه راوی بامزه و بسیار شوخ‌طبع سروکار دارید که از قضا به تازگی مُرده. بیش‌تر از هر چیزی نوع پرداخت داستان و فرم اون خواننده رو تحت تاثیر قرار می‌ده که اتفاقا سوزان سونتاگ هم در مقدمه‌ای که براش نوشته بهش اشاره کرده. راوی شوخ‌‌وشنگ این کتاب با متلک‌پرانی به ارسطو و یه‌سری فلاسفه دیگه خودش رو در مقام بالاتری قرار می‌ده و اصلا هم برآورده کردن توقعات و انتظارات خواننده و یا منتقد رو وظیفه خودش نمی‌دونه؛-«این نوشته اگر رضایت تو خواننده عالی‌مقام را جلب کند من مزد زحمت خودم را گرفته‌ام و اگر تو از آن راضی نباشی، من با بشکنی مزد زحمتت را تقدیم می‌کنم و از شرّ تو خلاص می‌شوم.»-«و اما نقص بزرگ این کتاب تو هستی، ای خواننده. تو دلت می‌خواهد سریع بگذری و به آخر برسی.»-«اگر بیش‌تر مردم سطحی‌نگر و کند ذهن نبودند، خودم را ناچار نمی‌دیدم به خواننده یادآوری کنم.»-«پناه بر خدا، یعنی من باید همه‌چیز را برایتان توضیح بدهم!»راوی یه‌جورایی خواننده رو در مرتبه‌ی پایین‌تری از خودش قرار می‌ده و توضیح دادن به منظور روشن شدن مطلب رو زحمتی می‌دونه که خواننده‌ی کندذهن روی دوشش گذاشته. با این‌همه اعتراف می‌کنه خواننده‌هاش بیش‌تر از ده نفر نیستند. براس کوباس از اون دست مُرده‌هاست که دنبال جلب ترحم نیست، بلکه خیلی واضح به غیراخلاقی بودن تعدادی از اعمالش در طول زندگی اعتراف می‌کنه و مهم‌تر از همه این‌که روایت زندگیش رو به شکلی به خواننده ارائه می‌ده که خواننده تعجب کنه از این‌که کتاب در قرن نوزدهم نوشته شده.

  • Vit Babenco
    2019-01-31 23:36

    “I wrote it with a playful pen and melancholy ink and it isn’t hard to foresee what can come out of that marriage. I might add that serious people will find some semblance of a normal novel, while frivolous people won’t find their usual one here. There it stands, deprived of the esteem of the serious and the love of the frivolous, the two main pillars of opinion.”Although The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas are written in a very frolicsome manner the book is abundant in precise and deep observations of human nature. So the novel may even be considered as an earthy parable of existence.“I had a passion for ballyhoo, the limelight, fireworks. More modest people will censure me perhaps for this defect. I’m confident, however, that clever people will recognize this talent of mine. So my idea had two faces, like a medal, one turned toward the public and the other toward me. On one side philanthropy and profit, on the other a thirst for fame.”The narration goes as easy and sparkling as a flute of effervescent champagne and it is as much pleasant and inebriating too.“Men are worth something in different ways, and the surest one of all is being worthy in the opinion of other men.”We are what we are in the eyes of the others so do never forget to pull the wool over the other people's eyes…“Note that I’m not making a man a simple vehicle of Humanitas. He is vehicle, passenger, and coachman all at the same time. He is Humanitas itself in a reduced form. It follows from that that there is a need for him to worship himself.”If man couldn’t love himself nobody would love him.

  • Özgür
    2019-02-08 18:26

    Roman kahramanı Brás Cubas tüm yapıtı öldükten sonra oluşturmaya başlıyor ve her şey bundan sonra başlıyor. Başlarda inanılmaz anlatım gücüyle elimden bırakamamış olsam da sonraki süreçte anlatımın koptuğunu düşündüm. Yine de romanın kurgusu alışılmışın dışında bir grafiksel yapıya sahip. 3.5'dan 4 diyelim.

  • Oziel Bispo
    2019-01-25 19:17

    O defunto Braz Cubas conta toda sua vida desde o seu nascimento até a sua morte num estilo inovador e inédito até então. Conta seus amores frustados com Marcela e Virgília , conta sua tentativa de entrada na vida política e a sua procura de dar sentido na sua vida enveredando na filosofia falida de Quincas Borba.Um ótimo livro que adorei reler!

  • Hadrian
    2019-02-07 15:38

    What is there between life and death? A short bridge. Nevertheless, if I hadn't put this chapter together the reader would have suffered a strong shock, quite harmful to the effect of the book. Jumping from a portrait to an epitaph can be a real and common act. The reader, however, is only taking refuge in the book to escape life. I'm not saying the thought is mine. I'm saying that there's a grain of truth in it and the form, at least, is picturesque. And, I repeat, it's not mine.The Posthumous Memoirs is a strange and original book. It is broken into many little chapters, and speaks with a wry ironic voice which is an ideal for the 21st century, not just the 19th. He toys with the very idea of what a book is, reminding us of its purpose, as I hope to show with the opening quote, but also in what it does not say. In one chapter about why our narrator did not because a State Minister, there is only empty space, a reflection on failed dreams as well as an invitation to retrace our own missed steps. On top of all this savage commentary and literary experimentation, this is also a very funny book.

  • César Lasso
    2019-01-22 19:24

    Hace tiempo leí la reseña que de este libro hizo una lectora. Decía que, a pesar de su originalidad aparente (la obra recoge las memorias escritas desde ultratumba por un difunto), no pasaba de un vulgar relato enmarcado en la corriente del Realismo. Estoy en desacuerdo con esa opinión. Tengo idea de que a Machado de Assis se le puede enmarcar en dicha corriente, pero no sin especificar que se trata de un representante muy original.La idea de que un muerto escriba libros no era enteramente nueva. Hace tiempo, yo ya había leído un panfleto publicado en la Lisboa de 1808, en plena invasión francesa, que me pareció interesante: Carta Escrita do Outro Mundo por William Pitt ao Imperador Napoleão (download del PDF desde: https://ia600500.us.archive.org/22/it... ).Y, por no ir más lejos, los miembros de la actual Iglesia Universal del Reino de Dios tienen textos sagrados que aseguran haber sido escritos por difuntos. Ahora bien, Machado de Assis llevó bastante lejos esta idea, y me parece que supera con creces la curiosa anécdota de 1808.Por otro lado, cuesta enmarcar este libro en el mismo tono narrativo de La señora Bovary o La Regenta. En primer lugar, porque Machado de Assis hace gala de un estupendo sentido del humor que no se prodiga tanto en los clásicos que menciono. Y, en segundo, por el elemento fantástico de lo póstumo. Claro que el Realismo no es completamente hostil a lo fantástico. Galdós escribió en su juventud varias obras de ese género (recomiendo La sombra). Y Clarín, por ejemplo, el relato breve El diablo en Semana Santa, que recoge las travesuras de un demonio que visita la catedral de una ciudad de provincias.En su condición de “memorias”, la novela tiene un tono diletante de quien tiene toda la eternidad para divagar. La acción transcurre a saltos y está plagada de digresiones. Traduzco del original portugués un trecho representativo:Empiezo a arrepentirme de este libro. No es que él me canse; yo no tengo qué hacer; y, realmente, expedir algunos flacos capítulos para el mundo siempre es tarea que distrae un poco de la eternidad. Pero el libro es pesado, huele a sepulcro, trae una cierta contracción cadavérica; vicio grave y, por otra parte, ínfimo, porque el mayor defecto de este libro eres tú, lector. Tú tienes prisa por envejecer, y el libro va despacito; tú amas la narración directa y nutrida, el estilo regular y fluido, y este libro y mi estilo son como los borrachos, que se desvían a diestro y siniestro, andan y paran, refunfuñan, berrean, se carcajean, amenazan al cielo, se resbalan y caen….Nada más definitorio de la falta de linealidad que lleva esta narración…Para acabar, mencionaré también el disparatado invento de la corriente filosófica que inicia uno de los personajes: el “Humanitismo”. Esta ideología viene a entreverarse con la acción en los capítulos finales del libro, y me ha recordado al descabellado pensamiento “filosófico” que se entreteje con la trama del onírico El tercer policía, escrito casi un siglo después por el humorista irlandés Flann O’Brien.Para ser una obra decimonónica, me parece un libro que apunta a vanguardias posteriores.

  • Tony
    2019-01-29 22:35

    How could I not want to read this?First, there is the absolutely gorgeous jacket design, including this painting, Young Man with a Pen by Diego Rivera:Second, Mike Puma recommended this. Mike is the go-to guy for Latin American literature.And then, in an introduction (by Bras Cubas), the author announces that he has "adopted the free-form of a Sterne or a Xavier de Maistre" in the writing of these Memoirs.Well, saddle me up and call me Tristram.Machado de Assis has indeed captured Sterne, down to the experimental font and digressions. He talks to the reader about what each is doing. Although, unlike Sterne, who delightfully talks to a female reader, Machado de Assis here chats with "the gentleman reading me." But our boy Tristram was well-intentioned, even likable. The World just befell him. Bras Cubas, conversely, is amoral, maybe immoral. He was a shitty kid and grew into a rather shitty grown-up. After his treatment of slaves, women in general, and family members, his late life cuckolding of a friend actually serves as his one vulnerable moment. I would recommend this to readers who liked that Sterne changed things, and want to know how writing changed as a result. Or if you're just wanting to finally read a Brazilian author.I liked this. I liked this, Mike! The writing was fine, but the effort did not live up to the promise of the book's beauty. Apropos of that nonsensical remark, here is the author's cogitation over a Bibliomaniac:The worst part is the absurdity. The man stays there, hunched over the page, a lens under his right eye, given over completely to the noble and wearing function of deciphering the absurdity. He's already promised himself to write a brief report in which he will relate the finding of the book and the discovery of the sublimity if there is to be one under that obscure phrase. In the end he discovers nothing and contents himself with ownership. He closes the book, looks at it, looks at it again, goes to the window and holds it up to the sun. A one-and-only copy. At that moment, passing under the window is a Caesar or a Cromwell on the path to power. He turns his back on him, closes the window, lies down on his hammock, and slowly thumbs through the book, lovingly, wallowing hard . . . A one-and-only copy! _____ _____ _____ _____ _____*Seriously. Google Diego Rivera. Really amazing paintings. **I said at the beginning of this review that this is a beautifully designed book. The publishers were meticulous in making it so. How then, I ask no one in particular, is it possible that they allowed no fewer than 50 typos? Some were simple: HE instead of THE; THE instead of THEY; ME instead of MY. Something you trip over and immediately right yourself. Other obvious typos, however, made whole sentences incomprehensible.

  • MJ Nicholls
    2019-02-09 20:39

    This recentish GR sensation (among my friends—the rest of GR can take a hike) failed to please me beyond the 166p point. There is something about those ponderous nice-guy narrators who ruminate on the quotidian in occasionally profound ways that seems to set GR aflame. My qualms with the book have been expressed by Nate and Jimmy—simply that once the original-for-1880 self-commenting aspect and short-chapter structure is out of the way, the story and its telling are quirky but banal. Another lovestruck oaf waffling about how beautiful his angelic beautiful beauty is in all her gorgeosity, padded with otherwise amusing cerebral digressions and quotable bits, followed by MJ snoozing in his comfy king-size. My sincerest apologies to The Puma.

  • Baymavi
    2019-02-11 22:31

    Selam sana Bras Cubas, sen öldün ama biz hala yaşıyoruz. Çocuk da var, sefalete devam! Sen zoru başardın, hayatı yaşadın. Biz şimdilik çabalıyoruz. Belki bir gün tak eder ve bu garipliğin dışına çıkarız ama biliyor musun bunun olacağını hiç zannetmiyorum.Pesimizmin böyle eğlenceli anlatılmış halini hiç görmemiştim. Tebrik ederim. Julian Barnes diye bir adam var, bir yazar, sen tanımazsın, “Bir son duygusu" diye bir kitap yazdı, yapısal açıdan bakıldığında senin yazdıklarına benziyor, iyi bir kitaptır, neyse, söyleyeceğim şu: kitapta insanın gelecekteki adımlarını, yaşlanana kadar geçecek zamanı tasavvur edebileceğini ama yaşlandığı zamanı hayal edip de onu o güne getiren hayatına, geçmişine bakmayı beceremeyeceğini iddia ediyordu. Pişmanlığın mutlak olduğunu söylemeye çalışıyordu, haklı bence. Yani üzülme, böyle bir hayatı yaşamak zorundaydın. Ve sen Bras Cubas, öldükten sonra hayatını tüm naifliğinle anlatmayı başarmışsın, seni bir kere daha tebrik ederim. Toprağın altında kurtların arasında Quincas Borba’yı görürsen ona söyle Hümanitizm adını verdiği felsefesi deli saçması ve kendisi de delinin dik alası. Ama sen iyi bir insanmışsın ve tüm iyi insanlar gibi hayal kırıklığı içinde ölmüşsün. Olsun, en azından bir Virgilia’n oldu, benim de var, senden farklı olarak ben onunla evliyim. Keşke seninle aynı zamanda yaşasaydık ve karşılaşmış olsaydık. Sana hareket yasasından bahsederdim. Emin ol Quincas Borba delisinin zırvalarından daha iyi. Neyse artık toprağın altında buluştuğumuzda anlatırım. Yanaklarından öpüyorum.Baymavi

  • Laura
    2019-02-02 21:17

    Title: Memorias Postumas de Braz CubasAuthor: Machado de AssisRelease Date: June 2, 2017 [EBook #54829]Language: PortugueseProduced by Laura N.R. & Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon in an extended version, also linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...)Free download available at Project Gutenberg.I made the proofing of this book for Free Literature and it will be published by Project Gutenberg.Original files are provided by Biblioteca NacionalPage 203:Começo a arrepender-me deste livro. Não que elle me cance; eu não tenho que fazer; e, realmente, expedir alguns magros capitulos para esse mundo sempre é tarefa que distráe um pouco da eternidade. Mas o livro é enfadonho, cheira a sepulchro, traz certa contracção cadaverica; vicio grave, e aliás infimo, porque o maior defeito deste livro és tu, leitor. Tu tens pressa de envelhecer, e o livro anda devagar; tu amas a narração direita e nutrida, o estylo regular e fluente, e este livro e o meu estylo são como os ebrios, guinam á direita e á esquerda, andam e param, resmungam, urram, gargalham, ameaçam o céu, escorregam e cáem...Page 253:Dito isto, peço licença para ir um dia destes expor-lhe um trabalho, fructo de longo estudo, um novosystema de philosophia, que não só explica e descreve a origem e a consummação das cousas, como faz dar um grande passo adeante de Zenon e Seneca, cujo stoicismo era um verdadeiro brinco de crianças ao pé da minha receita moral. É singularmente espantoso este meu systema; rectifica. o espirito humano, supprime a dor, assegura a felicidade, e enche de immensa gloria o nosso paiz. Chamo-lhe humanitismo, de Humanitas, principio das cousas.Page 301:Não se irrite o leitor com esta confissão. Eu bem sei que, para titillar-lhe os nervos da fantasia, devia padecer um grande desespero, derramar algumas lagrimas, e não almoçar. Seria romanesco; mas não seria biographico. A realidade pura é que eu almocei, como nos demais dias, acudindo ao coração com as lembranças da minha aventura, e ao estomago com os acepipes de Mr. Pruddon...Page 304:Leitor ignaro, se não guardas as cartas da juventude, não conhecerás um dia a philosophia das folhas velhas, não gostarás o prazer de ver-te, ao longe, na penumbra, com um chapéu de tres bicos, botas de sete leguas e longas barbas assyrias, a bailar ao som de uma gaita anacreontica. Guarda as tuas cartas da juventude!

  • K.D. Absolutely
    2019-02-21 20:27

    Strangely fascinating. I am no expert in literature and only started reading "serious" fiction works a couple of years back in my quest to read all those works included in 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die by Dr. Boxall.Therefore, at first, I did not know how to react to this kind of literary work. Some say it is a novel but the author, the Brazilian Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (1839-1908) says that is is a memoir. However, a memoir is supposed to be fiction. But how could this be fiction if it was written by the protagonist, the Brazilian rich and indolent Bras Cubas after his death? Dead people cannot write a novel unless they can talk to a writer who will, in trance, tinker what they say on his keyboard for many, many creepy nights. De Assis made use of a dead narrator, Bras Cubas, so that he (De Assis) will have a freedom to say what he wants to say, free from the responsibilities of the living. Death offers him the indolence of eternity (p. 209). The fact of being already deceased allows Brás Cubas to sharply criticize the Brazilian society and reflect on his own disillusionment, with no sign of remorse or fear of retaliation.(p.52) But in death, what a difference! What a release! What freedom! Oh, how people can shake off their coverings, leave their spangles in the gutter, unbutton themselves, undecorate themselves, confess flatly what they were and what they've stopped being! Because, in short, there aren't anymore neighbors or friends or enemies or acquintances or strangers. There's no more audience. The gaze of public opinions, that sharp and judgmental gaze, losses its virtue the moment we tread the territory of death. I'm not saying that it doesn't reach here and examine and judge us, but we don't care about the examination or judgment. My dear living gentlemen and ladies, there's nothing as incommensurable as the disdain of the deceased. This however, is not an original idea. De Assis himself admitted that this style of freewheeling narrative was inspired by Laurence Sterne (1713-1768) particularly the latter's The Life and Opinions of Tristam Shandy. The Afterword of the edition (The Library of Latin American series) I have says that the De Assis's generation of Brazilian writers were greatly influenced by French earlier masters. This was during the middle 19th century when Brazil veered away from Portugal that was their main ally and greatly influenced their country prior to its opening to European countries.The setting is in Rio de Janeiro, during that period, i.e., mid 19th century. The novel opens with the actual interment of tne 64-y/o Bras Cubas who ironically died of pneumonia after discovering an antihypochodriacal poultice medicine. He started to tell his tale from childhood, through his series of failed love affairs, his attempt to become a politician, etc up to his eventual death.The book is divided into several short erratic chapters shifting in tone and style. My favorite is XXXI entitled The Black Butterfuly. The scene is after the death of Bras Cubas's mother and he was visited by a black butterfly. Bras is not superstitious so he strikes the poor butterfly with a towel while on top of his father's portrait with a towel. In the Philippines, we all believe that a butterfly or even a dragonfly, in whatever color, appearing after the death of a loved one is actually the soul of that person. I remember that a brown dragonfly stayed on the windshield of my car few days after the death of my father in September 1997. That dragonfly stayed there on top of my sideview mirror while I was traversing the lenght of the South Expressway (SLEX) not minding the strong wind and dusts. The unique use of erratic chapters shifting in tone and style in this realist novel that also uses surreal devices of metaphor and playful narrative construction (source: Wiki), at times can also be confusing. What is funny is that De Assis anticipated this by including a short chapter LXXI entitled The Defect of this Book I'm beginning to regret this book. Not that it bores me, I have nothing to do and, really, putting together a few meager chapters for that other world is always a task that distracts me from eternity a little. But the book is tedious, it has the smell of grave about it; it has a certain cadeveric contraction about it, a serious fault, insignificant to boot because the main defect of this book is you, reader. You're in a hurry to grow old and the book moves slowly. You love direct and continuous narration, a regular and fluid style, and this book and my style are like drunkards, they stagger left and right, they walk and stop, mumble, yell, cackle, shake their fists at the sky, stumble, and fall...And they do fall! Miserable leaves of cypress of death, you shall fall like any others, beautiful and brilliant as you are. And, if I had eyes, I would shed a nostalgic tear for you. This is the great adventure of death, which if it leaves no mouth with which to laugh, neither does it leave eyes with which to weep... You shall fail"If you don't find those lines strangely fascinating, I don't know what lines in any other book would have that impact to you.My edition of this book was published by The Library of Latin America. Their series of books makes available in translation major nineteen-century authors whose work has been neglected in the English-speaking world.I am thankful to The Library of Latin America for bringing De Assis available to English-only readers like me. I look forward to knowing more obscure Latin American writers like the brilliant Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis. Saludos, Senor De Assis!

  • Maryam Hosseini
    2019-02-19 22:18

    .کتاب در 160 فصل بسیار کوتاه نوشته شده و شیوه روایت آن بسیار گیراست:واین نکته که نویسنده در متن داستان، خواننده را مخاطب قرار می دهد بسیار جالب است. فکری که گفتم، بعد از کلی بندبازی محیرالعقول تبدیل به فکری سمج شد "،خواننده ی عزیز ، خداوند تو را از شر هر جور فکر سمج حفظ کند" خار به چشم آدم برود بهتر است ، تیر به چشم آدم برود بهتر است تا گرفتار فکر سمج بشودنکته جالب دیگراینکه نویسنده دائما افکارواعمال خودش را قضاوت میکند و هدف ازآنها را نوضیح می دهدو توجیه می کند.جدای از روایت خوب، ایده داستان آنقدرها جدید و جذاب نیست،ناراحت نشوید اگر محبت تان را با ناسپاسی جواب داند "" !! افتادن از ابر رویاها بهتر از افتادن از پنجره ی طبقه سوم است

  • Alex
    2019-02-11 23:40

    Every season of life is an edition that corrects the one before and which will also be corrected itself until the definitive edition, which the publisher gives to the worms gratis.This really speaks to me. because I've gone through like twenty editions of myself - not because of demand, just that previous ones were like riddled with typos.I've read de Assis before, and it's great to revisit his weird, modern style. Writing in the late 1800s, De Assis is the Pushkin of Brazil - the father of their literature. Traces of metafictional Borges and magical realism can be seen. He doesn't so much break the fourth wall as refuse to acknowledge its existence. His narrators, his world, the very idea that you're reading a book, are all unreliable."And now watch the skill, the art with which I make the greatest transition in this book," he says, before making a totally awkward transition...Strip away the tricks and Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas - also known as Epitaph of a Small Winner - tells a small story. A guy leads an uneventful life. There's a love interest. Stars are crossed. The action is conventional. But you could say the same about Ulysses, and where would that get you? The book isn't about the story - it's about the book. It's narrated from beyond the grave. Bras Cubas rambles, aggrandizes himself, changes his mind. "Maybe I'll leave out the previous chapter," he says. "Among other reasons because in the last lines there's a phrase that's close to being nonsense." Then he singles you out - "seventy years from now, [you] leans over the previous page to see if [you] can discover the nonsense." I laughed because I'd just finished doing exactly that. I have no way of knowing if Bras Cubas actually did leave the previous chapter out.I like Dom Casmurro best; the actual plot engages me more. But who am I to say? "The main defect of this book is you, reader," Bras Cubas warns me. Maybe my next edition will do better.

  • El
    2019-02-12 18:36

    I have not read anything by Machado de Assis before, though I've been wanting to. He was a prolific author that, strangely, not a lot of people have heard about, and I'm not sure why. He wrote The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas in 1881, but if you picked this up without realizing that and just read it now, you would likely it think it had actually been written in the last fifty years.There's a freshness to his writing that holds up well today. I was nervous at first because I knew it was only just a little over 200 pages but someone referenced the fact that there are 160 chapters. I couldn't imagine how that would work out. But it... does, it really does. Some of the chapters are extremely short, some really don't say anything at all, and some are referenced in later chapters as possibly removed, but we don't really know if that is the case in the final book or not.Basically Machado de Assis likes to play with his readers. It's a game to him, and he had the foresight to realize that we could be reading him far, far down the line. I mean, what's funnier than fucking with a bunch of futuristic dicks? I think that was his plan all along. The idea amused him.Also amusing to him, evidently, was telling the story from the point of view of a deceased character. This is another indication Machado de Assis was ahead of his time. I was reminded at times during this of Jose Saramago's Death with Interruptions which I read a few months ago. I would say Saramago was likely influenced by Machado de Assis, though the latter did it better in the late 19th century than Saramago did in the 21st.I will be reading more by Machado now. I especially want to read Quincas Borba since he was a character in this book, and I'm curious to see what Machado does with him ten years later.

  • Íris
    2019-02-16 18:35

    Não vou alongar muito esta avaliação.Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas, se não me engano, foi o segundo ou terceiro livro que li de um autor brasileiro (sendo os outros dois de Paulo Coelho).O livro é escrito na visão de Brás Cubas, um homem que já morreu e decidiu contar a história da sua vida - que não é assim tão interessante - por, talvez, a vida ser demasiado aborrecida do outro lado.Conta, maioritariamente, sobre os seus amores e desencontros.Houve, no geral, duas coisas que ficaram esclarecidas quanto ao meu gosto:Gostei da escrita e da forma por vezes irónica, sarcástica e até despreocupada com que contava algumas das suas aventuras, mas, principalmente, e se não for considerado spoiler, achei extrema graça a este capítulo:Capítulo 136 - InutilidadeMas, ou muito me engano, ou acabo de escrever um capítulo inútil.E, mesmo sendo um capítulo tão curto, fiquei tão atónita com a audácia de um escritor do século XIX (sendo que, normalmente tinham bem mais modos e etiqueta do que temos hoje em dia) que fiquei a olhar para o capítulo durante 5 minutos, estupefacta.Apenas não apreciei muito o enredo em geral. Algumas partes eram mais envolventes que outras e isso acabou por me desanimar por vezes.E se eu tivesse conhecido Quincas Borba, teríamos dois dedos de conversa porque não concordei muito com a sua religião inventada.Mas, de qualquer forma, ele era demente.

  • Οδυσσέας Μουζίλης
    2019-02-19 20:40

    http://pepperlines.blogspot.gr/2016/1...

  • Maria Ferreira
    2019-02-21 21:36

    O autor Machado de Assis nasceu no brasil, mas é descendente de uma açoriana e um africano. “Nascido no Morro do Livramento, Rio de Janeiro, de uma família pobre, mal estudou em escolas públicas e nunca frequentou universidade. Os biógrafos notam que, interessado pela boémia e pela corte, lutou para subir socialmente abastecendo-se de superioridade intelectual. Para isso, assumiu diversos cargos públicos, passando pelo Ministério da Agricultura, do Comércio e das Obras Públicas, e conseguindo precoce notoriedade em jornais onde publicava suas primeiras poesias e crónicas. Em sua maturidade, reunido a colegas próximos, fundou e foi o primeiro presidente unânime da Academia Brasileira de Letras.”Este trecho sobre a vida de Machado de Assis elucida-nos sobre o conteúdo da temática que é abordada no livro. Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas apresenta-nos os retalhos da vida de um Fidalgo. O autor faz uma critica audaz à “fina flor” dos intelectuais que pululavam na corte do Brasil.Analisando este livro à época, segunda metade do seculo XIX, este estilo de literatura parece-me deveras “out of box”. A obraBrás Cubas, perece. Deitado no caixão, observa as pessoas que o estão a velar. Olhando para os rostos de cada um, vai contando as suas memórias, em jeito de balanço com o divino, vai narrando as suas aventuras e desventuras.Filho de Varão, privava nas mais altas insígnias da sociedade brasileira. Durante a infância tudo lhe foi permitido, e tudo, era literalmente tudo, travessuras, malcriadezas, abusos, sem qualquer castigo ou correção, tal como ele diz: “meu pai iria buscar o sol se eu lhe pedisse”. Daí que se tornou um bom “vivã”, estudou o mínimo dos mínimos, não valia o esforço porque o estatuto “dá o seu jeito” e, lá conseguiu doutorar-se em Coimbra, trabalhar não fazia parte das suas prioridades de vida, namorar, isso sim, com certeza, verdadeiras paixões, amava as mulheres casadas.O pai, queria ver o filho casado e deputado, acalentava o sonho de o ver na corte, a subir a escadaria da fama até se sentar na cadeira de ministro ou, quem sabe da presidência, mas na corte, defendendo brilhantemente os seus ideais. De maneira que tratou de “arranjar” casamento conveniente, convence o filho a casar-se com Virgília. Brás Cubas, contrariado lá aceitou o negócio, mas, eis que surge Lobo Neves e lhe rouba e noiva e consequentemente o lugar de deputado.Agastado pelo sucedido o pai morre, e Brás Cubas passa os dias, semanas, meses e anos encafuado na alcova de Virgília (a esposa de Lobo Neves). Agora não conto mais, senão perde toda a graça. Mas recomendo a leitura do livro, a escrita é belíssima, a forma como o narrador nos vai explicando cada detalhe dos acontecimentos é uma verdadeira delicia, porque o morto está permanentemente a conversar com o leitor, faz-nos perguntas, dá-nos sugestões e até alvitra sobre os nossos pensamentos, transcrevendo-os para o papel como se fossemos nós a responder, é muito engraçado este vai e vem de pergunta-resposta.Esta obra, dá-nos uma visão de como os “representantes do povo” caminhavam nos meandros das “cortes”. Era assim na altura, mas parece-me que existem algumas semelhanças com a atualidade.

  • Özgür Daş
    2019-02-22 18:45

    Mezarımdan Yazıyorum, edebiyatın felsefeyle harmanlanmasıyla oluşmuş bir içeriğe sahip. Kitabın kahramanı Braz Cubas; doğumundan ölümüne kadar geçen tüm önemli anlarını, gel-gitlerle dolu düşüncelerini, farklı felsefi akımların (materyalizm, varoluşçuluk, oportünizm, faydacılık vs.) şekillendirdiği iç dünyasını sakınımsız bir iç döküşle mezarından okuyucusuna sunuyor.Alıntılar:(view spoiler)["Biz ölümün diyarına girer girmez, kamuoyunun keskin ve yargılayan gözü gücünü kaybeder. Onun bazen bu tarafa da baktığını, bizi inceleyip yargıladığını inkâr edecek değilim, fakat onun yargıları biz ölüleri ilgilendirmez. Siz hâlâ hayatta olanlar, inanın ki dünyada bizim kayıtsızlığımız kadar korkunç enginlikte hiçbir şey yoktur."(s. 65)"Bir yanım evet diyordu, devlet içinde önemli bir göreve ve güzel bir eşe sahip olmak hafife alınacak fırsatlar değildi; diğer yanımsa hayır diyordu, annemin ölümü, bu dünyadaki şeylerin ne kadar kırılgan olduğunun bir örneği olarak aklımdan çıkmıyordu, bağlandığımız her şey böyleydi, aile de..."(s. 68)"Pascal, insanın düşünen bir kamış olduğunu söylemiş. Yanlış, insan düşünen bir dizgi hatasıdır. Hayatın her dönemi, bir öncekini düzelten yeni bir basımdır ve her dönem, bir sonraki tarafından düzeltilecektir; ta ki nihai basım yapılana kadar - ki yayıncı bu basımı kurtlara adamıştır."(s. 70)"Cinsellik dışı işler ve sorunların bireyin dikkatini büyük oranda meşgul ettiği bir dünyada çıplaklığın alışıldık bir hâl alması, duyuları köreltip cinsel işlevleri yavaşlatma eğiliminde olacaktır; oysa giyinmek, tabiatı gizleyerek iştahı güçlendirir, artırır ve uygarlığın devamlılığını, ilerlemesini mümkün kılar."(s. 163)Elli yaş! Daha elden ayaktan düşülecek yaş değil, ama insanın bu yaşta sıhhatli olmadığı da bir gerçek. Buna on yaş daha eklendi mi bir zamanlar bir İngilizin söylediği şu sözün önemini anlarım artık: "Sorun, artık anne babamı hatırlayan birini bulamamam değil, beni hatırlayan birini bulamamam."(s. 202)"Dine bağlı heyecanlar değişiklik gösterir, oysa açlık, yaşam ve ölüm kadar ebedidir."(s. 209) (hide spoiler)]

  • Maria João
    2019-01-26 16:34

    7 de 10*“Ao verme que primeiro roeu as frias carnes do meu cadáver dedico com saudosa lembrança estas Memórias Póstumas”. É desta forma que Machado de Assis dá início ao seu livro e o mote à narrativa.Mantendo o tom irónico e sarcástico que tão bem o caracteriza, Machado irá, na personagem de Brás Cubas e a coberto da sua morte, falar sem rodeios do que foi a vida deste personagem. Sendo as memórias de um morto, Brás Cubas relata-nos episódios da sua vida sem medo de represálias ou de consequências. Comentário completo em:http://abibliotecadajoao.blogspot.pt/...

  • Nelson Zagalo
    2019-01-24 15:22

    Um livro que precisa de ser encarado de dois ângulos distintos, o da história da literatura e o do prazer de leitura. Ou seja, o livro é um marco na literatura brasileira, não apenas por ser do "pai" da sua literatura, mas por ter aqui iniciado, na sua escrita e na do Brasil, todo o seu Realismo. Na língua portuguesa, tinha Eça iniciado o movimento, com “O Crime do Padre Amaro” (1875), ao que Machado não foi indiferente, tal como não vinha sendo indiferente a Zola e Flaubert. Esta obra de Machado de Assis é assim o primeiro tomo da trilogia realista do autor, a que se sucedeu "Quincas Borba" (1891) e "Dom Casmurro" (1899).Tendo em conta a inovação procurada por Machado de Assis nesta obra, com toda a mudança de registo operada, é natural que no texto se sintam fragilidades, como se sentem na obra de Eça. Estamos a falar de experimentação, da procura de novos modos, o que implica sempre falhar para conseguir ir além. Não estou com isto a dizer que a obra é falhada, longe de mim, antes quero dizer que lhe falta alguma fluidez, algum ritmo, mas que acaba sendo compensado pelo modo como apresenta o seu realismo, com um narrador, diria agressivo, que nunca deixa o leitor em paz, que assume um constante vai-e-vem entre o espaço ficcional e a nossa realidade. Algo que em minha opinião advém da experimentação com o real, parecendo a momentos, não estarmos a ler um romance, mas um texto não ficcional, mas que por outro lado Machado torna praticamente impossível com a premissa de partida, em que o narrador que conta a sua história está morto, o que por sua vez parece também querer aproximar-se de um certo realismo mágico que viria a surgir em força na América Latina do século XX.Para quem quiser aprofundar a leitura, existe muito por onde se iniciar, desde logo porque o texto está pejado de referências, desde Shakespeare a Stendhal, passando por Homero, Virgílio, Erasmo, Schopenhauer, Bocage, Sterne até às “Mil e Uma Noites”. Sobre a obra em si, muito, mas mesmo muito existe, leituras entretanto realizadas capazes de encontrar traços referenciais desde a sua estrutura à filosofia apresentada na figura de Quincas Borba. Nada que nos admire, já que se o livro foi recebido com algum desconfiança, muito motivado pelo que dissemos acima sobre a experimentação e o novo, a verdade é que Machado de Assis viria a fundar a Academia Brasileira de Letras em 1897, sendo o seu primeiro presidente.Publicado no VI: http://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com/...

  • Nate D
    2019-01-25 22:44

    This is the autobiography of a fictional dead writer -- not a writer who is dead, our narrator observes but a dead man who is writing, recounting his story from beyond the grave. That his story is so ordinary in its arc of 19th-century gentry romance and petty political aspiration just allows him to fill its margins with incisive observation, philosophizing both expansive and bitterly cynical, and darkly playful post-modern games -- chapters designed to explain other chapters or themselves, a chapter entirely blotted out, chapters that we are told have been removed from the book even within their own text, all designed to convey the story's vicissitudes all the more sharply.Wait, post-modernism? In 1880? In Brazil?! Yes. Machado de Assis was the son of a house painter and a washerwomen, born in 1839, and essentially a self-taught man of letters beyond the five years of public school (or its mid-19th century Brazilian equivalent). After some years of more time-typical romantic novels and stories, a period of illness gave him the urgency to break with any prior tradition to create Epitaph of a Small Winner, seemingly an attempt to capture the basic sadness of ordinary existence with grace and dry humor. And a level of formal innovation pretty much unsurpassed in its time, totally in service of his story. (Disclaimer: I've not read Tristam Shandy or Don Quixote, both of which I'm told have some of the same elements of pre-modern post-modernism).Admittedly, the actual story of this book is not so exciting. As I said before: pretty ordinary threads of romance and politics. And our posthumous narrator, who Assis seems to have made a full generation older than himself and a somewhat complacent inheritor of privilege and wealth, is far less interesting than Assis himself. But his voice -- Assis' voice coming through him -- is completely amazing, and gives the book all of its thrill and charm and perceptive power. (2.5 star story with a 4 star execution and 5 stars of literary ground-breakingness, perhaps)

  • Ben Loory
    2019-02-01 22:15

    it's like a shorter, faster-moving, brazilian tristram shandy, filled with some really amazing metaphors (like the trapeze the man carries inside his head) and a really fun sense of hopeless melancholy. i kinda wish a little more *happened* in it, but i imagine braz cubas feels the same way.the translation is incredible. while it's not quite impossible to believe that this book was written in 1880 (tristram shandy of course was even crazier a hundred years earlier), it is impossible that this translation was done in 1952. someone oughtta give william grossman a conto. if ever i have read a timeless book, this is it.probably not the best section to quote after that, but hey, this here's my favorite:"But," you will say, "how can you reconstruct the truth as of that time and express it after so many years?"Ah, my indiscreet and grossly ignorant beloved, it is this very capacity that makes us masters of the earth, this capacity to restore the past and thus to prove the instability of our impressions and the vanity of our affections. Let Pascal say that man is a thinking reed. He is wrong; man is a thinking erratum. Each period in life is a new edition that corrects the preceding one and that in turn will be corrected by the next, until publication of the definitive edition, which the publisher donates to the worms.

  • Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly
    2019-02-12 18:37

    "Posthumous", not because it was published after the author's death, but because Bras Cubas wrote his memoirs after he died. This is a 19th century work so it's supposed to be the original. Problem is, it didn't come as new to me, having read before the 20th century bestseller "Lovely Bones" by Alice Sebold where a murdered girl narrates.There are similarities here with Machado de Assis' other masterpiece, "Dom Casmurro", both in the manner the narrators ended up (alone) and their principal female protagonists (gloriously feminine, but flawed). I couldn't give this a similar 5-star rating, however, because of me. Machado de Assis himself said so. I am the defect of this book--"(T)he main defect of this book is you, reader. You're in a hurry to grow old and the book moves slowly. You love direct and continuous narration, a regular and fluid style, and this book and my style are like drunkards, they stagger left and right, they walk and stop, mumble, yell, cackle, shake their fists at the sky, stumble, and fall..."Indeed, I like Machado de Assis when he's more coherent. And that's him in "Dom Casmurro."

  • Murat G.
    2019-01-23 22:17

    Bu kitap ve referansları hakkında yazılacak çok şey var aslında ama temel olarak şunları not düşmek yeterli;- Bence Machado, yani "Bras Cubas" istese çok daha "eğlenceli" bir hikaye anlatabilirdi. Ama o yaşadığını anlatmayı ve bildiklerinden bahsetmeyi tercih etti.- Ben genel olarak, farklı anlatım tarzı girişimlerini; "iş olsun, farklılık olsun, ilgi toplayayım, canım sağ olsun" zihniyetiyle biçimlenmiş gereksiz işler olarak görürüm. Ön yargılıyım belki evet. Gel gelelim Machado'nun bu eserde gösterdiği farklı anlatım tarzı ve bu tarza yönelmesi için ortaya koyduğu sebepler, kanımca gayet anlaşılır ve hak verilir sebepler. Üstelik bencileyin gerçekçilik noktasında hassasiyeti olan okurlar için ayakta alkışlanası.- Demiyorum ki, yaşananlar bire bir gerçektir vs. Hatta biraz ileri giderek, eserin omurgasını oluşturan aşkın, reelde hiç yaşanmadığını, kafada oldukça fazla yaşandığını düşünüyorum. Ama gerçekçilik elbette birebirlik değildir. Yalan söyleyemeyen ve bu özelliklerini kendileri de bilip kendileriyle dalga geçen güzel adamlar vardır ve Machado da benim için bu adamlardan biridir bu kitaptan sonra. - Bence Machado hayat hakkında bildiklerini, tespitlerini bir kitapla aktarmak istemiştir ve "Mezarımdan yazıyorum" bu samimi çabanın sonucudur. Bunu yaparkenki en büyük başarısı, aşırılıklardan, ikincil çıkarımlardan, edebiyatın getirdiği coşumdan etkilenmemesi ve ona kapılmamasıdır. Bu oldukça zordur. Yazarın bu bahsettiklerimden kaçınmak için gösterdiği çaba olağanüstüdür ve çok değerlidir. ( Bu bölümü silmeliyim, bu bölümü abarttım, mezarımdan yazdığım için her şeyi olduğu gibi aktaracağım vb.)- Kitaptaki gönderilere ayrıntılı değinmek gerekir, bu konuda vaktim olduğunda bir araştırma da yapmak isterim. Ancak Machado, gerekli olmadıkça okuru birincil alıntılara boğmaz, onların kendisi ve hayatı üzerindeki yansımalarından ve geliştirilmesi gereken eksik yönlerinden bahseder. Bir okuma üzerinden bunların analizi tartışılır olsa da, bence;1) temelde stoik bir yaklaşımı var, -ki i'm lovin it- 2) realist ama sıkıcı değil, romantizmi dışlamıyor sadece romantizm üzerine şüpheci akıl yürütmeler inşa ediyor ve coşa geldikten sonra kendini, davranışlarını ve insanları analiz ediyor. 3) empati seviyesi üst düzeyde, bu kıvrak zekasını ironiyle de birleştiriyor. 4) insanlığa karşı umursamaz ve daha doğrusu kabullenilmiş bir karamsarlığı var, öte yandan bu noktadaki referansları olan filozofların aksine bence "uncomfortably numb" bir durumu var. (saygılar)Kitabı okuduktan sonra alelacele yazdım ama özetle diyeceğim şu;Bir kitap yazsam Machado de Assis'in Mezarımdan Yazıyorum'u gibi olurdu.Şimdi daha beylik laflar ederek noktalayayım;Bu kitap bir yazarın "Hayat" bölümü sonunda verdiği "Mezarımdan yazıyorum" isimli bitirme tezidir. Temel bilgiler, tartışma ve öneriler kısımları oldukça güzeldir ve oldukça fazla alıntılama sayısını hak etmektedir. Eyyorlamam bu kadar. Machado candır yhaa !

  • Pedro Varanda
    2019-02-04 20:29

    Gostei do livro essencialmente pelo trabalho de escrita. Uma escrita divertida com uma ironia e sarcasmo absolutamente deliciosos. Não é uma das grandes obras da literatura de língua Portuguesa, como tantas vezes é referenciado, mas recomendo a leitura.